


Confronting the Steward

by Ambazaar



Series: The Girl Who Forgot Everything [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A sassy elf girl who yells a lot, Denethor's A+ Parenting, Emotions, Frienship/love, Gen, How It Should Have Gone, Lost Love, Return of the King, sticking up for Faramir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambazaar/pseuds/Ambazaar
Summary: There is a moment in 'Return of the King' where I want to literally stab Denethor for wishing his son, Faramir, to trade places with Boromir after he had died. This is my response to that scene - It takes the form of an emotional elf woman named Ivory.





	Confronting the Steward

**Author's Note:**

> This is originally a piece of a longer story spanning across the first three films. However, I haven't gotten anywhere in that story and probably will not finish it any time soon. I may write more one shots featuring my OC Ivory in the future. We shall see.

     Ivory wished to go to him, the brave hobbit, her darling friend Pippen, and place a hand on his shoulder to give him comfort as he spoke his loyalty to the steward of Gondor. Though his words held true, in his heart he felt sick; Ivory could feel his fear. When he stumbled over his words, he glanced back at the Elven woman and, with a hand over her heart, she gave him an encouraging smile. The small man shut his eyes tightly and continued on with his oath.

     "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, in peace or war, in living or dying, from - from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me," he paused another moment and opened his eyes as he conjured the bravery he needed to finish his oath. He winced as if he had not fully comprehended the words he was swearing until this moment. Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, finally he finished, "or death take me." As the words left Pippen's lips, they left a strange feeling in the back of his throat. 

     Ivory knew his discomfort. She did not agree with this ritual - she did not agree with a lot of things. She had half a mind to interrupt and protest, but she dared not; she remembered Gandalf's warnings regarding her known behavior about unwelcome authority - The deed was done and so she held her feelings (and tongue) unexposed for the time.

    Denethor (the smug look on his face as he rose from his shy throne made the elf want to take Pippen away and hold him to her, to spare him from any more humiliation) strode to the hobbit with a grace that caught Ivory off guard and outstretched his hand to Pippen, and the hobbit briefly glanced at the ring shining as a scarlet diamond on Denethor's finger. 

     "And I shall never forget it," the steward promised, smiling almost joyously, it seemed, at the lone Halfling. "Nor fail to reward that which is given." Denethor held his hand before the hobbit's face and waited. Pippen, hesitant at first, caught one last look of the steward's ring and then kissed it, the act binding his words to his oath. He dropped his eyes to his knees, which rested beneath him, not quite sure what was to come next. He felt Denethor's hand beneath his chin, suddenly, and the steward rose Pippen's head to look into the Halfling's eyes. "Fealty with love," Denethor continued, his smile only slightly diminished. "Valor with honor-" 

    And then the steward's gaze crossed the room to meet his son's. The young captain stood off to the side from the small ceremony in silence with his hands crossed behind his back, patiently waiting. He met his father's eyes and just then Ivory caught something in Faramir's face: A quick flash of white flushed through his skin, but then the usual soft pink color returned to his cheeks before anyone else could notice the prince's discomfort. She had seen it, and because of that, Ivory watched Faramir with keen eyes.

    Denethor, his eyes seeming to bore a hole through Faramir, crossed the room to a table which was prepared for him with a meal of many varieties of meats and fruits, and drinks such as wine and sweet ales; looking over it, both Ivory and Pippen felt the sudden ping of an empty stomach's gentle growl. Denethor breathed slowly, hovering over the chair before he sat at the table, eyeing his son with bitterness. "Disloyalty with vengeance," he finished, and at long last he released his son of his indifferent gaze. 

    Pippen rose from his knees then and walked the short distance toward Ivory near the other end of Denethor's table. It was only then that her eyes left Faramir and she smiled kindly at her friend, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Softly so not to attract attention, she whispered to the Halfling, "Well done, my friend. You are brave indeed." For the first time that evening, Pippen smiled up at her. Sure, the small man still felt ill at ease, but Ivory gave him this reassuring look and he felt comfort in knowing she would stay there beside him until duty would have called her elsewhere. His smile was gone when he looked back at the Steward sitting at his table.

    The earlier indifference toward his son had no traces left on Denethor's face as he addressed his meal. He glanced over the food and picked certain things from trays as servants brought them to his table and he placed his favorites onto the empty plate in front of him. His tone was reasonable when he spoke to Faramir, but he did not raise a single glance from the table. "I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses." The indifference returning, he added as a last thought, "Defenses that your brother long held intact."

    "What would you have me do?" Faramir asked, though he appeared patient, his heart held deep frustration. His façade was well played, but Ivory detected it the moment his father spoke directly to him. He stood stiffly and every time Denethor addressed him, Faramir held his breath, just for a single moment - otherwise his demeanor appeared as any loyal soldier, ready to serve.

    There was slight tension in Denethor's tone. "I will not yield the River and Pelennor unfought - Osgiliath must be retaken." He began to eat, and the lack of emotion in his face and his words made Ivory cringe. Did he not know of what he was asking? Or did he simply care not?

    Patiently, Faramir replied, "My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun."

    "Much must be risked in war," Denethor said simply. "Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his Lord's will?"

    There was silence between the two of them. Faramir's façade crumbled beneath the realization of his father's intentions, his father's wishes. His hands came apart from behind him, drifting lamely to his sides. He hesitated to speak, an uncomfortable pain rising in his throat. Denethor's words struck him like a spear through the chest, though he found his heart beating harder to keep the flush of red in his face. He found it hard to breathe.

    Ivory looked from Faramir to the steward and wished more than anything to strike the vile man from wear he sat in his dining chair. The magic within her flinched at the dark feelings that spread out from Gondor's withering captain. It twisted inside her heart, causing her eyes to well just slightly. So much anger built up inside her that she felt her mind would boil up, that is until Faramir met her eye. 

    Just one shared glance, one tiny glimpse into the very heart of him through his eyes and everything within her fell apart, save the sadness that now haunted her soul.

    Faramir's voice was scarce at first, but he found his courage and forced a stern look toward his father. "You wish now that our places had been exchanged." Denethor did not look to his son, but kept eating as the heartless man he was, wishing to hear the rest. Faramir took a quick breath to keep his emotions in check. "That I had died . . . And Boromir had lived." As Boromir's name hung in the air, Ivory held her breath. Her grip on Pippen's shoulder tightened and the Hobbit looked up at her with worry. He put his own hand over hers, but she could barely feel it.

    For a brief moment, Denethor seemed hesitant, as if he would deny Faramir's claims, though in a flash the hesitation washed from his face and again he was expressionless. "Yes - I wish that," he said, as cold as the winter, a hateful searing cold not to be thawed ever again. But, this was not hatred. This was far worse than anything Faramir had imagined his father capable. Nevertheless, the words were exposed, stalking the room like a shadow of death, waiting to cling to Faramir's breast and take root.

    Faramir let go of his pain suddenly. He found his nobility and his pride and stood again in the form of a soldier, his hands trembling behind his back. "Since you are robbed of Boromir . . . I will do what I can in his stead." The Captain of Gondor bowed lowly to his steward, who would hardly offer him a glance. Ivory watched Faramir turn and take his leave, but then he stopped and turned toward his father again. "If I should return . . . think better of me, father." For the last time, Faramir turned from the steward to leave the hall.

    Denethor let out a kind of huff, his eyes following his son in disdain. He bitterly called after him, "That will depend on the manner of your return," and then continued to eat his meal.

    Ivory stared after Faramir, seeing his head slunk between his shoulders in rejection, and heartedly called after him, wishing he would not disappear in such a way without heart or soul. She stepped toward the doors, pulling away from Pippen, but when Faramir did not beckon her call and continued on through the large doors until they were closed behind him, her heart sunk completely.

    She was only roused from her daze at the boom of Denethor's voice. "Is there a thought you would wish to add, Elf?"

    "There are several, Lord Steward," Ivory answered without a moment's hesitation, her voice hard and angry. She felt the anxious stare of her smaller friend on her in an instant, but she did not meet his eyes for fear of shame or pity. She spun on her heel, her long, dark hair following her body's movements like a braided ribbon, and faced the steward. He eyed her sullenly, daring her to speak her mind. Ivory's expression was indignant. She held no regard for Gandalf's former warning, now. She held only determination and anger, and stood proudly before the steward.

    "You send your men to battle, but not to victory," she began.

    Denethor brushed this off and found his focus back on his food. "Am I to take strategy from an elf who's name nor kin mean anything to me." the steward retorted as efficiently as Ivory's anger.

    Ivory ignored his insults. "You are condemning your men, good men, to their deaths. What point is there in this?" 

    "If they fall, then they are worth nothing. Their value must be tested. If the weakest were spent and the stronger returned, only then will they know their worth." Denethor raised a glance at Ivory, but she did not speak for a long moment.

    She could hardly believe her ears. Could this man, so full of stubborn pride and blind to reason, be the father of the man she once loved? It could not be true. "Then, Ser, I have truly misjudged your character." Ivory breathed, allowing a single tear to run down her pale cheek. 

    Denethor grew weary of this woman's objections. The sound of silverware clamped down on his plate as he looked up to her. "Speak your mind, girl. I will hear it." He did not mean to indulge her, only himself. And then he would dismiss her. Ivory knew this, but still she would not give up.

    Ivory kept no thought henceforth for herself. "On the day of our coming, I first looked upon a man in mourning. You held your son's broken horn in grief and I understood your pain, but it has grown beyond that."

    "Who are you to speak of my grief?" Denethor's tone had lost all patience, and now he felt anger. The elf maiden did not squirm under his hateful gaze as he desired, but still he accused her of wrong. "You understand nothing!"

    "I understand one thing perfectly well," Ivory took a bold step toward the acting-king. "You wear your grief as a mask. You hide behind it like a shield, using it to your own advances. And when those who would do your bidding bow to your will, you lash out at them simply because you wish it. It is deceitful! Shameful and cowardly." She spat the words at him.

    "You dare speak to me as such in my own manor?"

    "You cannot threaten me, Denethor. You are no steward of mine."

    "You are in my halls, elf, by my good graces, and while-"

    "Your halls are pathetic!" Ivory lashed out in anger, silencing Denethor. "They are painted by shadow, reflecting the darkness in your heart, and from that darkness you are blind!" Ivory's voice echoed throughout the room, like bouncing balls on the walls of the empty hall, each parting to go their separate ways, but all returning back to the steward in a violent wave. And Denethor grew angrier than had Faramir been in his site. He rose to his feet, now ignoring the food that had so intently held his attention whilst his son had been there, but Ivory would not allow him a second to speak. She would have him hear her true feelings, everything on her mind, even if it meant her end.

    "That man," Ivory, though keeping her eyes set on the steward, pointed back behind her toward the door of the great hall where Faramir had earlier departed, "is all that you have left. Of Boromir. Of Finduilas . . ."

    One moment he had held the anger and fire of Mordor itself and, in a split second, it had all dispersed from Denethor's face, replaced with pain. He was shocked; no one had dared speak that name directly to him in many long years. "Do not speak her name," he commanded, his words hardly above a whisper. At the mention his late wife, his dearest gem, his face turned to true grief. He did not ponder on thinking how it was that Ivory knew his wife's name, how she knew anything, but he could now only focus on the sudden pain in his heart. 

    Ivory saw his sorrow, and her own words grew less harsh. She took a deep breath to settle the abnormal beat of her heart. "Faramir is all that you have, and you would cast him aside as if he were nothing. You would condemn him even after every thing he has done for you; always the obidient son. And though his deeds have gone unnoticed and unrewarded, his affections left unanswered - still..."

    Ivory found her breath lost. She lost connection with the steward's gaze for a split second to find the air again. She would not weep in front of him, she would not let him use her compassion against her. She met his eye once more, and found his grief waning.  "Still he continues to love you." Ivory told him. She found her strength, the sadness in her throat diminishing, her anger returning with fire. "Even to death, he would do your will, not as a captain, but as a son. I cannot see how, with all the despair, the continuous rejection, that his heart has not weakened. That he has continued to have passion. _You_ -" Ivory stared deeply into the steward's eyes. She could not understand her own words, even as true as she knew them to be. She shook her head, smiling defiantly. "You do not deserve his love." 

     Just for a moment, Ivory was silent, swimming through her own thoughts, wanting to say more and yet wanting not to take another breath. She agreed to take one last in his presence, and added, quietly, "As you did not deserve Boromir's." And then she turned her back and took her leave.

    She halted just before the door as Denethor spoke, snapping out of his withering state. "And you think, elf _maiden_ , that my son would have found you worthy of his love?"

    Ivory halted her breath. She stared blindly at the doors in front of her, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. Would she allow this villain to use her sorrow against her? At her hesitation, Denethor found the will to continue.

    "You think Boromir would ever have loved you? I think not. You do not know when to hold your tongue; you speak of things you know nothing of. You are defiant, arrogant, and inferior. What name do you hold that is worthy? That you would accuse my son of having ever cared for you, an _elf_ , sickens me."

    No, Ivory would not let this stand. She spun again as the steward was advancing upon her. A few feet apart now, they met each other's eye, Denethor thinking himself triumphed, but Ivory would not let it be so. She let out a slight chuckle and shook her head.

    "Then, my Lord, you did not know your son," she said simply. Without explanation, for she would not offer as such, Ivory took Boromir's charm of the White Tree from beneath her shirt and let it fall on her breast. The steward's smile was forever gone from his face. Before he could speak, Ivory slowly walked to him so that her voice could be heard by him and him alone. "Do you wish to know what Boromir's last words to me were, as he lay dying in my arms on the banks of Anduin?" Denethor's sudden change in feature told her that he did. "'Love my brother - Pity my father. _Pity_ my father," Ivory sighed at the pain in the elder man's face. "But I cannot fully abide his wishes, for I will not pity a man who pities himself - All while others are suffering under his bitter gaze." 

    Denethor's eyes would not leave the charm around Ivory's neck. He knew it had belonged to his late son. The boy had proudly shown the trinket to his father the day of its crafting. From his own hand had he carved the stone and the day Denethor blessed this token, Boromir decided to make a second for his brother, to which the steward protested. 'Let him make his own if he wishes to wear our symbol. Let him earn it', he had said, but he knew Boromir had defied him and made another for his young brother anyway. Why had he not punished Boromir? Because he loved his son, and could not find a fault in such a selfless act. But, had Faramir been the one to defy him, he would not have forgiven the boy. This he now realized. But, the old steward was stubborn, and as he knew in his heart the faults he had committed to his youngest, he would not accept them as wrong to anyone but himself.

    His eyes left the trinket and found Ivory's again, anger and fire boiling through her stare. He barred his teeth, holding in the tears of his latest memory, wishing nothing more than to do away with this wench. "Get out of my sight," Denethor commanded. Louder, his voice rang throughout the hall. "I will not look upon you again. Leave my city, you are welcome here no more," he growled, viciously.

    Ivory stepped back several feet and, as a sarcastic act, she bowed lowly to the steward before she turned. "As you command, my _Lord_." 

    She met the worried gaze of her frightened hobbit friend, though it was brief, and Ivory gave him a comforting smile hoping to brighten his spirits. _We will see one another again, my friend_ , she said to his thoughts. Pippen nodded a farewell, and Ivory turned from the hall at last. The boom of the doors shutting behind her echoed through the silent room even long after she had departed.


End file.
